Don’t come back to Chicago,
the wind is against you wherever you go
It shouldn’t be this hard to see you.
It shouldn’t be this hard to see You.
Now I write what nobody sees,
I carry this pen like a disease.
We rode our bikes through thunderstorms,
and laid some waste to last year’s norms.

A young and drunk girl held my hand
while walking back to her hotel.
We found her stranded by the park,
she smelled like weed and alcohol.
I ached while sitting on the curb
and hearing how my friend was beat.
He loved his parents even though
his life was less than bittersweet.

I thought I saw You underground,
I thought I heard You say
that every lesson resurrects
amidst the painful days.
I feel myself maturing now,
in suffering and drought.
I asked You for communion, though
I didn’t think You’d shout.


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